


Wolfblood Moon

by Washedawaycloud



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Evil Author Day, explicit violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22734754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Washedawaycloud/pseuds/Washedawaycloud
Summary: The bold italics are book quotes!
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Wolfblood Moon

**Author's Note:**

> The bold italics are book quotes!

**_ “Wait,’ said Bellatrix sharply “All except… except for the  _ ** **_ Mudblood _ ** **_.”  _ **

**_ Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure.  _ **

**_ “No!” shouted Ron. “You can have me, keep me!”  _ **

**_ Bellatrix hit him across the face; the blow echoed around the room. _ **

**_ “If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,” she said. “Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.”  _ **

**_ She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room, while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.  _ **

**_ “Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?” Greyback crooned as he forced them along the corridor. “I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, ginger?”  _ **

**_ Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness.  _ ** **_ The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn out scream from directly above them. _ **

Hermione felt as if she’d been in a car accident, suffering whiplash. One moment blurred into the next, but she felt the floor under her. She heard more than felt her head bounce off the immaculate dark wood. Her vision swims a little as Bellatrix, the great crazy  birth of  Death Eater, looms over her. 

“Where did you get the sword, little Mudblood?” 

Weight settles across her hips, and the pale witch with hair like devil’s snare is within biting distance. Her breath reeks of old meals, and bacteria. It makes the considerably darker witch’s eyes water. 

“We found it. It’s nothing special. We just found it.” Her words slur slightly, and her head lolls to the side. Blurry pale figures are there, three of them. The Malfoys, no doubt. Draco, Lucius, Narcissa. Draco who  _ lied _ . What was going on there, she wondered. What reason could he  possible have had –

A slap echoes through the room. The sharp pain of it makes her whimper, head snapped to the opposite side of the room. 

“Where. Did. You. Get. The. Sword?” Each word is seethed and Hermione puffs out irritated breathes. At least, Lestrange isn’t a  Legimens . Small favors. Very, terribly small favors. 

“We found it! I swear it.” 

Burning pain encompasses her wor l d, and Hermione screams like she might die. It  _ burns _ . Burns like an acidic potion had splashed her skin. It doesn’t stop burning when the knife is taken away. She sees the silver flashing in the dim light and draws a breath only to scream again. 

“Oh ho , ho, what have we here?” Bellatrix leans back on her haunches, watching the deep complexion of the dirty little bitch’s arm redden and bubble where the knife had barely cut. There  were only a few reasons why someone would react like that. Considering the little bitch wasn’t pure, it couldn’t be a curse. Not that particular one, a vain and dark curse. Her great, great,  _ great _ grandmother had been recipient of it once.

“Muddy, muddy blood. You’re practically less than  _ muggle _ .” Bella coos in delight, leaning forward just a touch, pressing the blade tip to Hermione’s skin. The resulting wail makes her cackle with glee. This would be even better than she’d anticipated. 

A pity she would need to tread even more carefully than before. Too much and she’d die well before any information was gained. The knife is removed and the girl writhes beneath her. It’s actually quite pleasant and the darkest witch from the house of Black in a century  chuckles darkly. 

“Where did you get the sword.” 

“Found it. Found it We FOUND IT! PLEASE IT BURNS!” 

“Yes , it does,  you filthy little  _ bitch _ . Dark blood will out, dirty blood always outs.” Bella hums and grins a slow, slimy expression. What Hermione can see of it makes her insides crawl.  The cuts are burning. It feels as if her arm might come clear off – and it’s travelling. 

“WE FOUND IT!” Just make it stop. Make it end. Please, please, sweet Merlin, make it  _ stop.  _

“Where! Where did you  _ “find” _ it.” 

Truth in a lie. She’d heard that before, somewhere. She can’t remember where, not with her mind on fire. Truth in the lie makes it easier to swallow. 

“Lake! A LAKE!” Small lie. “Please,  _ please _ .” 

The girl’s screams were harsh on Greyback’s ears. He was as bad and bloody as any wolf worth their salt was. However, there was something about these screams that made his hackles raise. Something about that girl was twisting up the wolf.  Her pleas are grating, making his wolf squirm and snarl. He picks up his pace to get into the room, to shut those screams up and that crazy  b itch Lestrange if he got the chance. 

The sight that greets him makes his blood go cold. Lestrange had the girl pinned, and from the smell – was thoroughly enjoying the screams and thrashing of the younger witch. He had come up just in time to see the skin slough off the little witch’s arm. The knife glints, blood wells, and Greyback’s growl reverberates through the great room.

“Ah, look, little muddy bitch, look who’s come to play!” Bella sings and shifts in time with Hermione’s flailing’s. 

Salt stains the air,  s ilver and the tang of wolf’s blood bleed across his senses. Brown eyes so dark they’re only to be described as black, flash gold. Wolf blood. The girl was a wolf. But not. She’s not, but it’s in her all the same. 

“Lestrange.” He spits more than says the words, and the low sound cuts through the thick screams. 

“ _ Dog _ .” Her greeting is just this side of crass, and it doesn’t make the wolf any happier. “Come to get a bite in?” The silver knife is trailed over her bottom lip. 

The wench is twisted, they all knew it, they knew it during the first war. Now, however, she’s gone  round the bend and wandered her way back with an insanity that made the insane quiver. He hates her. He hates them all, but none so much as her right this very second. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, because why the hell not? It would get the bitch away from the  wolfblood . Wolfblood was far too important to endanger. Especially  _ that _ wolfblood . Granger is a well-known, well publicized witch. Save her, if the Dark stain goes down, the wolves would be cast in a far better light. Especially if she’s turned. All it would take is a little nick, just a chomp and her virus would bloom out of control, unable to be checked. 

Every wolf as old as him knew the stories.  Wolfblooded were something beyond even him. He could stay half changed, but it was through sheer force of will rather than some ability.  _ She _ would be an Alpha, she would choose to change. Her wolf would be different, stronger. Her wolf would be her. She’d been born with it. He just needed to wake it. Wake it and let her rip these sorry swots to pieces. 

The knife slides along the little wolf’s cheek and she screams bloody murder. Her skin bubbles and he  has to hold back the violence in himself. Precious. She’s precious and had been laid low by filth who had no idea what she was. Had no idea the power just under their gaze. 

Stalking forward, he jerks his head for Bellatrix to unseat herself. The barmy bitch does it happily, a  tell-tale dampness on her robes. The pup would demand to rip her to pieces. T o be used like that. Any pup would  make it a point to rip their pound of flesh. 

Hermione thought she wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer. No, she knew she couldn’t hold it together anymore. It hurt so badly. Nothing felt right. It was all wrong, all swirling together, her head pounding, her heart beating against her ribs as if fixing to burst through. 

No more. She can’t do this anymore. Merlin forgive her, she needs to get free of this. She can’t take the pain any more. It’s too much. Too acute, it doesn’t lull before the pain flairs brighter. 

No more, no more. 

Teeth rip through her shoulder, and her world whites out. The sound ripped from her throat is a howl, a plea for someone to save her, and it shreds her throat raw. Her heart beats harder, the fire flares brighter and then it all abruptly recedes. The world comes into sharp focus, and Hermione’s mind seemingly reboots. 

No more pain, no more fire. The fire had been abruptly extinguished. Her fingers curl against her palms and her throat works to swallow without any spit. Her tongue is like sandpaper. 

“Well, did you kill her?” 

There is a grating quality to that voice. Too high pitched, too much darkness hanging in the threads of it. Hermione’s lip curls and those teeth in her shoulder retract.  What the hell had just happened? 

“Got the bite in, that’s all.” The rumble has her hackles up.  _ Alpha _ , a breath is drawn slowly in. Wolf. Not one of hers. Strong. She’s not stronger. Not yet. She could be. She  _ would _ be. 

“Why’s she quiet then, hm? Where did those lovely screams go? I want her to break the bloody chandelier.” The tap of metal fills the room, the stinging smell of terrible silver makes her itch. That had been on her skin. That had marked her. She owed that witch scars. She owed her pain. 

“Well, I leave that to you. You’re better ate keeping the food alive when torturing than I am.” 

Golden eyes meet golden eyes and feral smiles are exchanged.  It didn’t matter that Hermione feared and loathed Fenrir Greyback in this moment. His wolf respected hers, small though it may be right now. His wolf knew what she would do. He set it up for her. Brought her in line with the kill as any good parent should. 

She makes herself limp, the wolf and woman of a single mind on the matter. Bellatrix was a problem to be dealt with. Bellatrix had hurt them – Bellatrix needed to pay for that. Pay for everything she’d done in her wretched life . 

Hermione had no idea that Dobby , Luna and Dean w ere all working on freeing Ron and Harry. She could barely remember having half screamed her lungs to shreds, let alone they were here to help her.  She hears steps, but they are faint, far away, not to be bothered with as the torturing wretch makes her way closer. 

Wretch who is carrying.  _ Carrying _ . Hermione barely holds in a gasp of utter disgust. There is no question  _ who _ se child Lestrange carried. As if she’d let her husband get a brat on her No. There was a  _ single _ wizard Bella loved enough for that.  One man who she’d allow to breed her. 

Hermione bides her time, even as her vision bleeds red. A pound of flesh is owed ,and she’ll take it. Compassion stamped down to a dull glowing ember, the wolf in her is strong and demanding. The Alpha wolf that woke her  demands blood as well. She can hear it in his every breath. 

Knees on either side of her hips, a dull sound on the floor.  Flash of silver, hated awful silver that caused far too many problems. Scent of blood, arousal that’s been banked and  _ child _ . Darkness swirls. 

“She’s half dead –“ The last word is little more than a gurgled shriek as the younger witch lets loose a growl and  takes out Bella’s throat. She knows enough not to do it with her teeth, but her nails shift  easily and the claws do the job nicely. The blood smells sickly sweet and that darkness that swirled laces it. 

Revulsion has her scrambling away,  crouching, watching the wolf and the other three in the room. A shriek and demand for silence. Whimpers that are also told to shut up. Silver blonde hair moves like a whip, while another head of it just shakes. Acidic fear slips into the room, but pride over powers it. 

Shock – similar to fe ar , sharp but not so acidic has her turning her head. 

“Hermione?!” 

_ Harry _ . 

“HERMIONE!” 

_ Ron _ . 

Her head tilts, nose flexes as she tastes the air. Luna. Dean. Hurt. An elf is with them. She stands up , shakes the wolf from her a bit. Sharp brown eyes threaded with gold settle on the Alpha. His hands come up in surrender, smirk on his lips. He tosses his wand and she  takes it, catches it without a thought, moving toward her boys. 

“Harry, Ron.” 

“We heard you screaming.” 

“What the bloody fuck happened to your shoulder?! Your face!” 

“She’s  wolf!” Dean hisses at the other two boys. “Didn’t you see her rip out Lestrange’s throat with her  _ bare hands?!”  _

“Dean –“ Her gut roils. She knows what Remus faced, his worries, his fears. Would she be outcast too?

“Hush. Time is ticking, we need to be out of here before the escape fails!” Luna, sweet, docile Luna’s voice is sharp and sure. Hermione feels her estimation of the witch go up. There is more to Luna than what can be seen. 

Harry is the one to reach out to her, pulling her into a rough hug. Ron is looking at her hand, covered in blood.  There is screaming about loyalty, going against a Master? Dobby is speaking too. And then the sickening twist pull of apparition takes them. But not before silver slices through the air, and Hermione reaches out without a thought. Someone could be killed by it, while she would only suffer temporary pain. 

The beach landing is rough, Harry still has hold of her, and she lets out a scream to wake the dead. She can’t make her hand let go of the knife’s blade, and it scorches her. Her face turns from the sight, blackened brown skin that will slough off soon , in favor of pale soft skin that her lips stain red . He smells of sweat and fear, but the fear is dulled, hours old, wash liquid is faint, soap fainter. It’s calming to her. She sags in his arms. 

“Ron! Ron get the knife out of her hand!” Harry never wanted to hear Hermione scream like that again. It’s the sort of sound a person is unable to make unless it’s pulled from them by some situation or another. A forced, reedy -wet sound that  makes your ears pound and your teeth vibrate. 

Ron, however, doesn’t move. His eyes are locked on them, on Harry and Hermione. Hermione half passed out with her hand outstretched, clutching the knife. He watches in horror as her skin continues to blacken, a color completely different than what he was used to seeing on her . She was dark, beautifully dark, but this was sinister. 

He ripped it from her hand, gagging when the blackened skin came away with it. Her pained howl would haunt his dreams for years. Just like her screams in the Manor would.  There was nothing about the last hour or so that wouldn’t haunt him for years. 

Hermione sags in relief  when the pain eases.  Her whole body becomes limp , endorphins  flooding her in the wake of all that pain.  She’s floating in a sea of warmth and  darkness, comfort , safe now. Safe in these arms, surrounded with this scent.  There is movement, her notion of where down and up are shift, her legs  taken up into an arm. She swims in and out of consciousness,  knowing they are moving but not where. She can see blonde hair, not silver, just pale gold, and hear rough voices just under the crashing of waves. 

Harry doesn’t know what to do, what to say when Bill flings open the door of Shell Cottage. It’s clear from the redhead’s face he could smell the blood and likely heard Hermione’s scream.  At least she was safe now. A small miracle. Very small in the face of what she would have to endure in the coming months and years of her life. 

“Greyback,” is what works  its way from his throat as the silence stretches. “Lestrange had a silver knife.” 

“Sounded like Hermione was dying.” Ron is gruff, moving past Bill without touching him or looking at Fleur.  Part of Ron knew anything that had been between he and the Witch was over. Otters paired for life and werewolves had mates . Hermione may never find her mate, it was a miracle in Remus’ own words he’d found his. Ron doesn’t think he has that sort of luck on his side. 

“Before or after the bite?” Fleur is  urging Harry toward the table, clearing it with a flick of her wand. Supplies come flying from the bedroom and from under the sink . 

“Both. Worst was when we got here. That howl. She caught the knife.” Ron waves the thing still in his hand. Why hadn’t he let it go? 

“ Something was odd about the whole thing,” Harry find himself murmuring, setting his best friend down on the wooden surface. His eyebrows pull together as he makes himself go over what he’d seen. 

“Greyback bit her, but almost as soon as Hermione stopped  screaming, he was off her.  He was more at ease than ever.” His hand s get shoved into his pockets , one hand fingering the wand there. He could see it,  the hulking beast of a man leaning over a petite , very trapped Hermione. 

Those vicious ugly teeth ripped into her, he’d heard it rather than seen,  the angle he’d been watching from wasn’t the best.  Ev en hearing it, he won’t ever forget it. Won’t forget that this is his fault. If he’d only kept his mouth  _ shut _ . If they’d only stayed within Hermione’s wards…

“ Wolf-blood,” Fleur whispers, eyeing the younger witch carefully.  Somehow it explained so much. Hermione was made of sterner stuff than most  witches, and having wolf-blood would make sense.  It also meant she wasn’t safe from the curse. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means one of her ancestors was a werewolf,” Bill states gravely, moving into the  house and casting even more wards now that everyone is safely inside. “Wolf-blooded people are rare,  born of those with the curse, and never manifesting it themselves. They’re different than most anyone in mannerisms. If it’s true of Hermione, well, look at her younger years. That explains her deference to her elders, her fearlessness, her desire to be part of a large family group. Pack instincts.” 

“Don’t be daft,” Ron murmurs with a frown, thinking of his bushy haired friend. “Hermione was all about learning, being the best –“ 

“ Don’t paint her with so fine a brush!” Fleur cuts him off, remembering the young  fifteen year old witch and the stories of her younger years. 

“Fleur is right. I remember all the letters from Mum, and the stories from our brothers. Hermione was trying to fit in, find friends, seeking to prove she belonged in the Wizarding world.”

“So?! Every muggleborn is like that.” 

“That’s not true, Ron.” Harry  is the one who interjects this time, hands having moved to take hold of one of Hermione’s limp ones. “Dean doesn’t  make the same effort as Hermione. He integrated almost flawlessly. Justin didn’t make half the effort Hermione did either. They’re both  raised muggle,  _ I’m _ muggle raised. Hermione has always stood slightly apart, and desperately been trying to find a way inside. Who makes a stronger effort than her to ingratiate themselves with the teachers? Who  tries harder to prove their magic is just as valid as everyone  elses ? No one. Just Hermione.” 

Bottle green eyes look up with a strange light behind them, one Ron hasn’t seen it often. “ Do you remember how quiet she got after she was bitten? It was an eerie silence, mate. The kind that makes your hair stand on end. Not to mention Greyback.  Have we ever heard of him leaving someone alive voluntarily he didn’t mean to turn? It’s not even a full moon yet.” 

“She’s not a wolf!” Ron shouts it, even though he knows better, and stomps away while Fleur begins the delicate work of piecing Hermione back together. 

“Bill, I need the  murtlap , dittany, and burn cream Charlie sent. If we are lucky she will not scar badly and not have terrible reminders of this horrid war.” 


End file.
